Late night calls
by Madewithscience
Summary: On one stormy, terrifying night, America is really going to regret listing Russia underneath Japan's name as the "Kolkolkol Guy."


**First Hetalia fic! Woo, check me out guys, I'm livin' life on the edge xD**

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><p>It was a universal fact that Alfred F. Jones was a complete and utter moron, but it was something the proud nation refused to acknowledge, and insistently denied when the notion was even mentioned. Until tonight, one stormy, pitch-black night, when America suddenly agreed with all his heart that he was, indeed, an <em>idiot.<em>

Why on earth had he watched _The Ring _by himself in the middle of a storm?

The eerie sound of strenuous violins still rung through Alfred's mind as a clap of thunder shook the sky, making the dishes in his downstairs cabinets rattle with the vibration. America himself was shaking as hard as the rumbling storm clouds as he let out a whimper from underneath his fort of blankets and pillows. Of all times to decide to watch a horror movie on his own, _why did it have to be when a freaking tempest went all Godzilla on his town?-!_

He was too scared to move, and there was no way in hell that he was going poke out from under the safety of his covers to check and see if he closed all the windows in his house. America had no doubt in his mind that if he allowed a beaming, blue eye to rise over the edge of his blanket, some creepy, bloodied little girl was going to be standing next to his bed with a knife ready to gouge his eyes out.

_If you can't see them, they won't attack, if you can't see them, they won't attack. _America chanted in his mind, folding tighter into himself as another explosion of sound echoed off the sky above him. Dude, why didn't he just wait for a day when Japan could come over? Sure, Kiku was totally a hermit and wouldn't sleep with him, but something about his freakishly indifferent calm made the terror numb a little in the American. Not to mention that the simple fact that Japan wasn't in the least shaken by those horrible, mentally scarring movies reminded Alfred who had to be the hero, here. And it sure as hell wasn't Japan.

Still, despite his having to hold up the Hero attitude, the thought of having Kiku, _or anyone, seriously, just anyone,_ by his side right now was more than appealing. Alfred let out another whine to accompany the growl of the sky, and decided that, sure, he was proud, but he wasn't beneath calling up his Japanese friend at two in the morning to be reassured that he was being ridiculous. Besides, it would still be daytime over there, in Japan. Kiku wouldn't mind, right? RIGHT?

Right or not, a choice had been made. And when Alfred Jones makes a choice, he _does not _go back on it. The well-built American shifted underneath his blankets, flinching as if the movement would attracted unwanted attention, then flipped over to his left side, where he knew he was facing his night stand. Somewhere in front of him, out in the danger zone, was the cellphone that would end this terror. It was now a mission of life of death to retrieve the device, and it would take all of Alfred's strength to achieve his goal. But, dammit! He was an American! They don't call it the home of the brave for nothing!

So, only screaming _semi-hysterically, _America launched his hand out of the safety of the blankets and slapped his thick hand madly over the nightstand until the cool, sleek touch of his iphone brushed against his fingers. America coiled his hand around it and withdrew quickly, feeling like his heart was going to burst out of his chest as he tucked his hand under his body, trying to warm it back up to lose the creepy feeling that came as an aftermath of potential danger.

When he felt secured again, but no less panicked, the American pulled his prize out from underneath himself and frantically began working at the touchpad. He flicked through his contacts without really thinking, aiming for the _K _section, where he would find Kiku's name, and all would be well with the world. A roll of thunder. _A__ll will be well. _The sound of something moving downstairs. _IT'S GONNA BE FINE. _Kiku's name being skipped over, unknown to the American and-

_Click._

_"Privet?"_

"JAPAN, DUDE, I'M FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW, I SWEAR TO GOD THERE'S SOMETHING MOVING IN MY KITCHEN AND I'M PRETTY SURE IT HAS THE MOTIVE OF SLICING MY FACE OFF-!" America blurted out at once, not caring to notice that "Privet" was _definitely _not Japanese. And that light, pleasantly gentle voice certainly _did not _belong to Japan.

There was a short pause on the other line, where only America's heavy breathing filled the silence as he tightened his hold on the phone and waited anxiously for some sort of response. It came after far too long a time, but all anticipation in America was shattered away with shock and instant confusion when he heard the voice of the person he was speaking to.

"_Alfredka? _Is that you who is speaking? I cannot understand you when are screaming to me like that. Please, repeat yourself but speak slower this time, so I can be hearing you right." The kind instructions came through, making the American freeze up, and the already questionable foundation of his brain to split.

"R-Russia?" He managed to choke out after a long time of unintelligible sounds, "Dude, what're you doing at Japan's place? Don't tell me you ate him, or something sick like that!"

Despite the rather harsh, and not to mention _really weird_ assumption, a light chuckle trickled through the phone, "_Net, _my little American friend, I am not being at Japan's house. I am in Moscow right now, and I am thinking that you have wrong number."

The realization hit like a brick, and if Alfred wasn't so caught up in fearing for his life, he would have felt the uncomfortable twisting sensation of embarrassment in his stomach.

"Oh...I guess I do..." Alfred had his mouth open to continue on and bid an awkward farewell to the intimidating nation, when a clap of thunder, louder than any of the echoes before, pierced across the sky, accompanied with a light show of electricity dancing along to the terrifying music.

America let out a yelp against his will, and curled up as tight as he could against the phone, forgetting who was on the other line as a small whimper escaped his lips. If Ivan had at all been surprised by this string of noises, it came out as slight concern when he spoke again.

"_Alfredka, _are you alright? What is going on over there?" He questioned, almost sounding sincerely worried about his once upon a time enemy.

"N-nothing, man. J-just a storm..." _A freaking blow-your-face-off hurricane, more like._

A nearly sympathetic tutting came from the Russian, followed by a chuckle that wasn't altogether unkind in its nature, "And is Alfred being afraid of this storm?"

A swell of pride overtook America's fear in one, overwhelming moment, as he gripped the phone tighter again his ear, "What? No way, man! I'm a hero, and hero's don't get-!"

"Is there still something moving in your kitchen, Alfred?"

America froze over, as if Winter took a personal visit to his bed in the middle of Summer. He nearly chucked the phone across his room, thinking that Ivan had been possessed by some demon (If that wasn't always the case when it came to that man,) when he remembered what he had been screaming about when he thought he was talking to Japan. Okay, so Russia wasn't some whacked-out physic who could tell what was going on in America's kitchen, but the reminder of the sound was still unnerving to the point where it elicited a squeak from the heroic nation.

"What?-! Why did you have to bring that up, dude! How the fuck do you expect me to sleep, now?-!" He cried out feverishly, wishing so very dearly that he could just melt into his mattress and be safe from all the devils that were lurking beyond his bed.

As a response, an enlightened sound came from Ivan, "Ah. So you _are_ scared, _dorogoy._"

"Dora-what? And no, I'm n-not! It's perfectly reasonable for a dude to be _slightly _unhinged when there could potentially be a freak of nature lurking by his food stash, alright?-!" Said America in the firmest tone he could conjure, which wasn't the best. His voice faltered near the end, and almost cracked under his suppressed hysterics.

Ivan laughed again, giving Alfred the sudden urge to reach through the receiver and punch him in the face, "Do not worry, little America. I will not be letting anything harm you, da?"

"Dude, you're all the way in Moscow! How can-!...Wait, what?" America had to do a double-take on Ivan's statement, running it through his mind several times over to make sure he heard correctly. Did Ivan Braginsky, seven-foot tall, secretly homicidal, maim-you-in-your-sleep _Russia _just say something...Comforting?

Alfred shook his head. It was probably just part of some wider scheme of _becoming one with Russia. _A "They can't hurt you, because that's my job." type deal. But Ivan acted quite the contrary when he went on, and continued to throw America off his guard.

"Distance does not matter very much to me. I will be very upset if something caused for our little America to be absent to those boring meetings. It would get so dreary without _Alfredka's _bright face to cheer us up." Said Ivan so simply, like this wasn't a totally bizarre thing for America to be hearing.

"Uhm...Okaaay. Thanks, I guess." Said Alfred uncertainly, looking around his dark shelter with confused, blue orbs, "I, uh...Appreciate that, big guy."

There was that happy chuckle from the other side, and Alfred could just picture Ivan tilting his head to the side in that questioning-puppy way he always did when asking something, "Are you wanting to call Japan, now, or are you to be staying on phone with me?"

Something fluttered inside of Alfred. Had Ivan really just implied that he wouldn't mind to stay on the phone with the frightened American? If America hangs up, and called up Kiku, instead, there was no doubt that the conversation would be filled with sighs that the Japanese man did his best to hold in, and constant reminders to America that Japan _has__ very important business to attend to, and maybe you should consider choosing a new genre of movie to watch, America-san._

There was something about Ivan's typical patience that seemed unusually different to Alfred, and it made him realize that, as he got deeper into his conversation with the Russian, the thunder seemed to bother him less, and there were no thoughts of insane little girls with knives, anymore. The comfort coming from Ivan was so foreign, that it made America forget the simple fact that this was _Russia _he was talking to. Surprisingly, Alfred felt _safe. _

So the American made a choice. And when Alfred Jones makes a choice, he _does not _go back on it.

"Well, y-you doin' anything?" Asked America, relaxing for the first time since the call. He could practically see the smile through the line as the reply came,

"Not at all."


End file.
